


Bitch with a Stick

by Winterstar



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's on the tin. Answers a prompt from the lj run_the_con comm. "Cold hands, warm heart"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitch with a Stick

Some people call her the bitch with the stick. At times, she is proud of the name and she walks with a strut and a swagger that stills a room and turns heads. There are other times, though, that the tag pierces little holes into her heart and she thinks she can see drops, single drops of blood on her blouse. Of course, it is ridiculous and stupid to worry about what other people think and do. She gets the job done and does it well. They are all jealous and envious. 

She tells herself these lies and believes them, because once she was a little girl who loved fairy tales and whispered stories to her sister as they played in a pillow built castle. Now, she dresses in the best clothes and wears the glass slippers that only a fairy godmother would give Cinderella. She becomes a princess in everyone’s eyes, except for herself.

She works hard, she doesn’t play often. She doesn’t allow herself to search for fun or joy or love. Until it falls upon her like a slow and gentle breeze, soothing and wondrous. It hadn’t been like that, at first. No, it had been an angry hurricane, pelting at her with its cold icy prickles of pain. She’d been at her absolute best when she went up against him, but he’d been at the top of his game. They fought like the titans, clashed and broke and chased – well, she chased him. It was fun and fantastic, until it ended and she found herself bereft of pursuing a criminal.

She lashed out, called him a sociopath during his trial and she enjoyed watching him, sitting there at trial. She cheered when they convicted him, but went home and drank a whole bottle of wine by herself in the dark. 

Years later, when she tasted wine with him sitting across from her on the top of the FBI building she felt something settle and ease within her. There was something thrilling and crazy about Caffrey, but at the same time he calmed her. An odd sensation but she found she liked it.

Kissing him is like tasting molten lava, hot and burning right down to her toes. She’s tried to deny it many times; she’s tried to ignore the flame and blaze of want when he touched her. He’s a con-man, he can do anything, invoke any emotion he wants from people. He’s a magician of emotions and an illusionist of reality. She cannot believe him. 

Until she does.

Until she wants to, but, of course, it wasn’t the right time. She had to walk away and forget him. She doesn’t, though. He reaches out to her, in his need. She forgets the flight and delays her transfer to England. She tells herself this is what friends do; this is what she needs to do.

 

It takes all his cunning and genius to pull it off, but he does and she’s proud. He falls into her arms late at night and she tries to forget she left opportunity behind for the warmth of his embrace and for loyalty of family. She hasn’t given over to such trivial things since she lost her sister all those years ago. She stays confined within the boundaries of her tailored suits and custom made wardrobe with $2000 pairs of shoes. These are her shells, her artificial walls which have served her well for all the years she’s distanced herself from ties and bindings of friendship and love.

Yet, now when the hour is bright and yearning, she tears the walls away and surrenders to his need. She knew the moment she heard his voice over the phone while she waited at the airport for her flight across the pond, she would never get on the plane. He was in need and she responded. She damned her job; opened up, unfurled against the rain, she stayed fearless. When he told her to leave, to save the job she loved so very much, she stopped, placed her long finger with manicured nail on his lips and told him to hush. She knew where she was needed and what she was doing. Not even the great Neal Caffrey told _her_ what to do.

Once they finish their game, their sting to bring down the corruption that supported a dirty senator, to free a man worthy of his respect, she celebrates with him. Once he finds his father and she’s able to save Neal from harm, she cries with him. She understands how family can disappoint, and discourage so absolutely it hurts to the marrow of your bones. She holds onto him, his anchor and succor as he weathers the pain of betrayal and the hurt of a man who once he idolized, but who tried to kill his own son to save himself. She is there through it all.

He apologizes for her lost opportunity, but she knows she was just running away from the possibilities of life with Neal, of a life filled not with children wielding batons but with laughter and adventure and connection to someone of like heart and brain. She tells him not to worry, not to care. 

She knows who she is, she understands it, now. She can rule the city again, that is who she is. He doesn’t ask her to change for him, she climbs and breaches fortresses designed to not let her in. She’s strong and defiant and he supports her. She discovers how very little he thinks of himself when he speaks to her in the late of night after all the unhappiness with his father.

He promises to change for her, to be better. “I’ll change for you.”

Once again, she places her finger against his sweet lips and says, “No, I don’t want someone else, I want Neal Caffrey.”

His eyes burn red with tears. “I want to be a better man.”

She cradles him close to her heart, holds onto him and kisses him with a light and tender touch. “You are a better man. A much better man.”

The kiss she shares with him is different this time. It promises love and bliss, yes, but also something else. The intangible lies within the hunting for the passion, the elusiveness of bonds and unions presses within the touch and the taste of his lips. While fire and need flare and strike within the kiss, another thing that cannot be spoken of, that is not spoken of exists. It is an understanding of who they are now, and who they promise to be later. 

He sees her in all of her glory, her defeat, her pride, and her conceit. He sees all of this and she sees all of his brilliance, his faults, and his arrogance. Within their acceptance of each other lies something more radiant, something more astounding than she gathered before. 

Family.

Love.

Life.

She hears this when he speaks one word, only one. She knows that even though she is the bitch with a stick, he feels her heart and accepts her as his own.

After he settles within her, after she arches against him and shudders about him. When he finds his release, he speaks the word and she is happy, blissful, and content.

It is a blessing on his lips. It is his commitment to her.

_”Sara.”_

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> To see the lovely artwork, please see the entry on my lj. [Artwork by kanarek13](http://dmk0064.livejournal.com/86064.html)


End file.
